Tales From a Far Away Land
by Lli
Summary: Collection of AF ficlets on all sorts of things, most of whom tend to be bittersweet. Newly updated le gasp! Jolliet this time, because I've always wanted to write them. Critiques always appreciated!
1. Wedding of a Long Gone Child

Disclaimer: You know the drill. I own nothing except my lovely autographed trilogy. And really, my dad owns that...  
  
Summary: Just a short little bit on our darling boy's wedding and Holly's (rather platonic) feelings concerning it. No, fear not, it's not a Mary- Sue. The bride doesn't even have a name. Set after the Eternity Code, as previously mentioned. Enjoy(  
  
*  
  
Wedding of a Long Gone Child.  
  
The church is beautiful, a testament to human skill and creativity. Pale summer light filters through delicate stained glass illuminating saints and sinners, their eyes turned heavenward in silent prayer. Quite like Holly's appear to be. Then her eyes complete their circuit and return to staring at the tuxedoed back of the groom. God sighs, snapping his fingers in a 'foiled-again' sort of way, and moves on to a more likely spiritual candidate.  
  
Human weddings are dull. Holly will readily admit that she finds almost any ceremony relatively sleep inducing, but this is worse then usual. Has Artemis lost his taste along with his youth? If Foaly were here he would say she was using humor and spite to cover her grief. Which is why she came without him.  
  
It isn't that she's in love with Artemis. No, despite being numerous disreputable things, Holly is not, and never has been, a cradle robber. However, Artemis is her friend, and though the relationship is rather one sided now, she still cares for him. More then she will ever admit.  
  
She will admit, however, that it's incredibly hard to watch a good friend marry a woman you never met, move on to a completely new stage of life, and not even know they are leaving you behind.  
  
Holly runs a hand through her crew cut, keeping up a constant litany of complaints in an attempt to drown out the vicar's voice.  
  
Butler stands to the side, best man. Some random brunette stands beside him, bridesmaid. Juliet and the Fowls sit in the front pew, the woman's family beside them. Butler is trying to inconspicuously dry his eyes.  
  
Are you being left behind as well, old friend? Holly smiles wryly, unconsciously reaching out a hand to pat his elbow, before yanking it back with a mental scolding. You'd think that two decades would wash away all connection she felt to these humans. She wished.  
  
The bride and groom say their vows and kiss. Not anything fireworks worthy, just a sweet little kiss. Holly wonders if he really loves her. The Artemis she had known took so long just to establish a friendship, they'd all have been long dead by the time he fell in love.  
  
It all just goes to show how far gone the Artemis she knew is; that the pale vampire she knew and loved is now just a figment of her memory, no longer among the living. Sometimes she almost misses him. Him, Butler, the only mud man she understands, and fiery little Juliet, the only mud woman (no longer a mud girl) she respects. She wonders if this wife will ever gain her respect. She doubts it.  
  
Before everyone starts to leave, she slips down the aisle and out the door. Outside, Armani clad bodyguards patrol the wedding plaza. She passes by them unseen, depositing a small, wrapped package on the gifts' table. Nothing special, just an acorn in tissue paper and a card wishing an old friend happiness and good luck in his new life.  
  
The wedding entourage enters the tent and she quickly pilfers a few fancy fruits off a plate, weaving her way to the exit. Before wandering off forever into the inky black she turns around to say her last goodbyes. As she does so, she catches Artemis' eye.  
  
He stares straight at her, brow crinkled. He couldn't possibly...? No. No, he can't see her. With a shake of his head he returns his attentions to his inquiring bride. A vaguely disappointed Holly is once again left alone with only her memories of a long gone child whom she knew from a time long ago in a land far, far away.  
  
-Finis. 


	2. Mourning Sickness

Disclaimer: Take your pick.  
  
Summary: Kinda angsty-ish, Root mourns the collapse of his marriage and Holly inadvertently helps out.  
  
* Mourning Sickness.  
  
Root props his feet up the crisp white tablecloth, his boots leaving dirty bruises on the soft fabric. Two years ago he would have cared. Rebelliously, he puffs on an enormous cigar. Two years ago he would have gone outside to smoke.  
  
He wife is on vacation to Atlantis. That's what he tells inquiring associates at any rate. What he doesn't tell them is she has been gone two months instead of ten days. And she is never coming back.  
  
Eighty years they were married. Eighty bleeding years. He jabs the cigar viciously into the offensive white cloth. Her cloth.  
  
She had known what she was getting into, marrying a LEP agent. She had said it didn't matter to her. She had said she would always love him. And now she was gone, off with some young, blue-tanned sprite most likely. She might as well have taken his heart along with her in her handbag. At least she and her friends could have gotten a good laugh looking at it, broken and bleeding on the living room carpet. Not like it's doing much good here with him.  
  
Lighting another cigar, Root chugs half a bottle of sugary fruit juice. Times like this he almost wished he were human so he could drown himself and all his sorrows in cheap whiskey.  
  
She had wanted children. He hadn't had the time. She had wanted comfort when her father died. He hadn't had the time. She had wanted to wake up beside the man she loved. He hadn't had time. He hadn't had time for anything but his career. Yes, he thinks miserably, just like all those shyte-for-brains mud movies Foaly shows him.  
  
Sometimes he wishes he could just curl up on a ball and never wake-up again. He also wishes he wasn't quite so pathetic. Sometimes he even wishes he could share his problems with someone. This idea is always shot down faster then the others.  
  
There's a knock on his door. The little plasma screen beside the toaster shows Holly's frowning face. Holly. The last person on earth he wants to see. With her red hair and big brown eyes and fiery temper she could be the little girl his wife always wanted. The one he'd never let her have. Just goes to show someone up there has a lovely ironic streak.  
  
Sighing, he pushes himself out of his chair and goes to open the door.  
  
"What, Short?"  
  
"Great to see you too Commander."  
  
"Save it Short, I'm not in the mood."  
  
Her frown softens and for a moment her eyes hold the pity he always scorned. "Sorry sir. Just wanted to see if you were still alive. You don't usually miss a week of work, sir. You all right, sir?"  
  
No, no I'm not all right he wants to say. Instead: "Of course. I'm perfectly fine, don't be such a wuss, Short. I just had a slight flu."  
  
The pity is replaced by a seversly non-plussed glint. "Unfortunately." Holly mutters. Louder she replies: "Sorry to have bothered you, sir. Good night." She turns, stepping back onto the sidewalk.  
  
Root frowns. "Wait! Holly!"  
  
She turns, eyebrow raised.  
  
"Thanks. For coming to check up. I appreciate it."  
  
The other eyebrow goes up. "Sure, whatever, Commander. No problem."  
  
"Good. Well? Don't just stand there like an imbecile Short, aren't you on duty tonight? Get bloody going!"  
  
"Yes, sir." Her mouth tilts up at the corners, giving him a mock salute. She rolls her eyes discretely as she walks away.  
  
Julius Root smiles at her back before closing his door to the night, returning to the kitchen. He swallows the rest of the juice, dusts off the tablecloth and snubs out his cigar in the dish.  
  
Wandering into the bedroom, he flicks on the lights, wrestles his way into some pajamas and shuffles into bed. Before turning off the lights he pauses to run a finger down the silver picture frame of his wife's portrait. That blue tanned whippersnapper had better treat her right or he'd hang up by his testicles.  
  
With this charming thought, he flips off the lights and manfully snuggles into the covers. After all, if he's going back to work tomorrow he needs a decent night's sleep to get rid of this pesky flu.  
  
-Finis 


	3. All Right

Disclaimer: Well, I could go on and on about how much I wished I owned Artemis Fowl, and how I really don't, but I'd rather not.  
  
A/N: Kudos to everyone who reviewed, I feel very loved(  
  
Summary: Rather odd ficlet based on the musings of the darling, but insane lady who lived in the Fowl attic for the better part of the first book. Yes, I know the timing's a bit screwed but I'm taking artistic license... really...  
  
*  
  
All Right  
  
Too bright. Toobrighttoobrighttoobright. I wish I could claw my eyes out. Why won't little Arty close the blinds?  
  
Speaking of Arty, where is he? Who is that boy in my room? Is he a perverted servant come to stare at me in my nightgown? I should think my husband had better taste in staff. Oh good, he's gone. And he closed the blinds.  
  
Is that a cat?  
  
I've always loved cats but we never got one. Artemis was allergic... oh. Where has the cat gone? It was here just a minute ago... Maybe if I sing it will come back?  
  
Rain, rain, go away, come again another day... rain, rain, go away- wait, don't cats like rain? Or is that dogs? Oh, this is much too confusing. Someone probably put that cat in here just to bother me. Probably took it out again through the window to make me think I was seeing things. But I'm not seeing things. Only insane people see things.  
  
I could go for some caviar about now. I'm very hungry. Could I eat that cat perhaps? No, all that blood and raw meat would make the room smell bad.  
  
Maybe I should become a painter? I like art. Not Picasso though. He's insane. I don't like insane people. They always frighten me. Which is a horrible thing to say, I'm sure they can't help it. Did Picasso see things?  
  
These sheets are very itchy. What are they made of? I hope it's nothing acrylic. Ick, I could only sleep in silk. Nylon would make me sweat. Only poor people sweat. Sweat... sweating, sweated, sweater...  
  
I used to have a lovely angora hair sweater. It was deep red and went down to my knees. I wonder where it's got to... Artemis bought it for me when we visited Paris for our twelfth anniversary...  
  
On the bedside table there is a glass of wine. At least, I think it's wine, hard to tell in the dark. I reach out and take a sip of it. Definitely wine. Red, and very expensive, probably French. It does however have an odd side after taste... sort of like...  
  
... too bright. Squinting, I open my eyes. I must have fallen asleep... odd, I don't remember...  
  
There's a girl opening the window, she's very short. I've never seen her before, must be a servant.  
  
She turns around, smiling. She's gorgeous. If she weren't so small she'd make an excellent model. Funny, you'd think I'd recognize someone like that hanging around the house. Plus I do meet with all the staff personally... hmmm. Very strange.  
  
She winks at me and says: "Don't tell Arty you saw me... he wants to be the first to greet you, I think."  
  
She's got such a lovely voice. Mesmerizing almost. Of course I won't tell Arty, why would I? I open my mouth to say as much but she's gone. Was I dreaming? She seemed so real though... maybe I'm seeing things. I blink, rubbing my eyes and looking around.  
  
I realize I'm in the attic. What on earth am I doing there? The room is dark save for the square of pale sunlight drifting through the open window. There is dust everywhere and pieces of broken porcelain decorate the floor.  
  
I shake my head. Odd place for me to fall a sleep and wake up hallucinating... did I drink to much last night? I've been doing that since Artemis was... lost.  
  
Speaking of Artemis: Arty! How horrid of me! Just leaving him on his own like that. Totally irresponsible. Oh dear. I must go down and see him right away, tell him I'm all right. Yes, he'll want to know I'm all right.  
  
-Finis 


	4. OddlyPrecious

Disclaimer: -insert something clever and witty that amounts to the sad fact that Lli owns not Artemis Fowl-  
  
Summary: I've been skipping the main character! Time to do something with everyone's favourite vampire boy. Set between The Artic Incident and The Eternity Code, Artemis longs for conversation and a certain circular candy on a stick.  
  
*  
  
Oddly-precious  
  
Class is boring. It is, in fact, awe inspiring just how extraordinarily dull it can be. I am trying to think of a more intelligent way of describing this disturbing phenomenon but as testimony to not only the school's disastrous qualities but also to how much of Root's base vocabulary has rubbed off on me, I can only think of several paragraphs' worth of multilingual curses. I am utterly ashamed.  
  
The teacher, supposedly a Cambridge graduate, is stunningly stupid and unoriginal. I had always thought Cambridge to have at least some standards. For once, it appears, I thought wrong. Mulch could teach this subject, which, by the way, is the culture and traditions of the Maori people of New Zealand in the seventeenth century, with more depth and insight. (I am only taking this course because I thought I might not know the entire curriculum backwards. And now look at me: I am talking to myself.)  
  
The bell rings with its usual angry exuberance and I curse creation as my eardrums are pummeled. At least, I console myself, classes are over for the day. For the day.  
  
Butler is waiting for me in the Porsche outside the front doors, ready to take me home and as far from this mad house as possible. Thank Frond.  
  
Oh good lord, I am even starting to adopt their monarchs.  
  
Holding the door open for me, Butler gives me a small smile. I smile back. It is an odd sensation, returning a smile. Dr. Po seems to think such things will become more natural with practice (of course he also thought his chair was authentic Victorian merchandise), and I suppose it is all part of the mutual respect/being civil business. It is a pity then that most of the people I respect live underground. I do not, however, mind the lack of practice.  
  
Driving through town we pass a dilapidated corner store. Not a piece of real estate I would look even once at usually, but something in the window catches my eye. Butler obediently parks the car on curb at my request and escorts me into the store.  
  
It is the type of place lower middle-class children might haunt after school, though it is empty as we enter. I doubt the bleach-blonde cashier has ever even heard the word 'Armani'.  
  
Trying to keep hold of my dignity, I ignore her stares and pick out a cherry flavoured lollipop from the display case. She rings up the total (ninety three shillings) and asks if I want a bag. I shake my head, no need to take one only to throw it out and further pollute the earth. (Mind you, the next customer will probably do exactly that.)  
  
It is a testimony to his training that Butler keeps a straight face as we return to the car, not even raising an eyebrow. As per usual, I do not explain myself and he doesn't ask. It is remarkable how much trust he puts in me at times.  
  
As we approach the manor, I stare at the offending chunk of artificially flavoured chemicals. Tucking it away in my pants' pocket, I feel vaguely forgotten about. I had been promised a lollipop a year ago and never received it; never mind that I do not actually like them and that Holly had not actually been serious. After all, as much as it galls me, I have been a very 'good boy', and I do not mean that with any sort of innuendo.  
  
Though honestly, I suppose, the only reason I should want her to bring me a lollipop is for the chance to engage in an intelligent conversation for once, a commodity hard to find both above and below ground. After all, it is stupid to waste something as rare and oddly precious as friendship, however shaky, and good conversation, however sarcastic and over- opinionated.  
  
(I could of course always come up with a dastardly scheme involving illegal fairy technology or something to that effect. Though that would more likely get me a kick in arse from a certain irate and over-worked elf then conversation. But one never knows...)  
  
-Finis 


	5. And Maybe

Disclaimer: Take your pick m'dears.  
  
Summary: After a ridiculously long amount of time, I decided to update (inspired by Caspian's DOUBLE UPDATE in June.) Anyway, this little ditty is all about our favourite Irish blonde and her trials and tribulations. I realize the Greenpeace idea is silly but I liked it and the pairing isn't so popular (yes, the older sister/good friend is Holly) but I like it and it's a tribute to Ophelia who's no longer writing for this site, but was an excellent author.  
  
And mucho gracias to all my lovely reviewers, you guys rock my socks

And Maybe  
  
I really hate planes. The food is gross, the seats are too small (I don't know how the lady across from me is managing) and they smell like hospitals. Ew.  
  
The only good thing about them is the other passengers. Take the girl beside me for example: she's gorgeous and blonde, all long legs and big eyes. Her hair is in a thick braid, ending in a jade ring and her nails are painted green to match. She looks vaguely sad, but sad with style nonetheless.  
  
She's obviously Irish, her accent was unmistakable when she put in her order for dinner. She also reminds me of a martial artist, graceful, relaxed and completely prepared for anything all at the same time. Wish I could do that.  
  
Who knows, maybe she's erstwhile youngest daughter of a famed family of bodyguards, fully trained to kick anyone's arse but had a revolutionizing experience and realized there's no joy in violence so is now going to America to work for Greenpeace.  
  
And maybe, she's leaving behind the only family she has, her older brother and his arrogant, but good-at-heart, rich, handsome, young charge behind in Ireland. And she's sad because she'll miss them and doesn't know if they can manage to keep themselves out of trouble long enough to still be alive when she comes back for Christmas hols.  
  
And maybe she's also secretly in love with the rich young charge's fiery, fey, older sister (or maybe just good friend) who only visits once in a while because she lives far away. But the sister doesn't like her and she knows it so she's forgotten she's in love, but it's still there, whispering in the back of her mind, trying to make her remember.  
  
And maybe she can't wait to get to America but she doesn't know if it's the right thing to do because no one she knows has ever done this before. But she's smart and beautiful so she knows she'll be alright; she just wishes she could have someone she loves with her, because no matter how many times she turns away the boys who line up at her door, she's lonely.  
  
And maybe she's ready to make a fresh start and move on, knowing she has a home to come back to if it doesn't work out.  
  
Or maybe she's just a model on vacation. Who knows?  
  
-Finis


	6. Romeo and Juliet

Disclaimer: Same old, same old.

Author's notes: It's been a while! As many of you have mentioned, my later ficlets have been rather deficient. I'm out of practice, but hopefully this one will make up for them. Though, loss is still reigning as theme of the day.

PS. For those of you who dislike Jolliet, I'm afraid this isn't for you. (Set sometime in the EC, I'm pretending Opal Deception doesn't exist.)

Romeo and Juliet

"Do you think we'll ever get to meet sometime when we're not … you know, running around, pillaging and plundering and wreaking havoc?" She turns to her companion, who is sucking on a lollipop.

"But that's what we do best. Would we even like each other if we were just out somewhere holding hands and whispering sweet nothings?"

"Darling, I don't even think you _can_ whisper sweet nothings. I think that breaks some sort of universal law, like gravity, or something."

Her companion (her Sister, her Lover, her Life) smiles around the candy ball. "Oh, you thinks so do you? C'mere."

Obediently, a trait that comes easily to neither of them, she leans closer, pressing her cheek to the other's.

"Your eyes are like the moon reflecting off of a moth's wings in the hands of a child." She can feel her Sister's voice through their joined skin. A shiver spirals down her back. "Your voice is like corn syrup on those nice little blueberry waffles you make. You skin is as shiny as a dog's nose. Your nose… ha, ha your nose... ummm… well, it's a very nice nose." She can feel her Lover's laughter bubbling up in her throat, long before it skips off her tongue and out into the air, which is heavy with impermanence

"Those were the worst nothings I have ever heard." She leans back and they stare at each other's faces, both trying to imprint the other in their minds forever. A forever made up of snippets. Of snap shots and one-liners. Snapshots of moth's wings, of waffles, of lollipops and jade rings. Nail polish and acorns and a hooked nose over a cherub's mouth. Long legs and an attitude that only gets better when mesmerized. One liners of forever, perfection and completion.

"Baby," she says. "I'm going to miss you. Promise me you won't forget me when I'm old and ugly and wrinkled."

"Of course not. I'll love you even better that way." Shorter then most children, and older then most adults, she scrubs her eyes fiercely, trying not to let her little body break apart from this feeling of loss. This loss that transcends age, height, gender, race and species. "My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! At least we're classy." A cherubic smile. "Promise me something as well?"

" 'Course."

"Promise me you'll try to be happy."

"Oh babe… I…"

"I know, I know! But please?" Eyes so wide with love and loss. "Just try. It's what you are. Happy, I mean. If you weren't happy, you wouldn't be you…and I love you too much to let you go."

"No, you love me enough to let me go. Of course. I promise." She runs her thumb along the edge of her Life's pointed ear, smiling. "Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? We won't even be buried together."

"Ha, ha! We don't need to be. Stars like us live in the sky, not the earth."

She smiles, because she is happy.

-Finis


End file.
